At home
my aimless mind
writes poemless lines.
Homeless under
trees or sky,
my lines take aim
to fly.

Thursday, November 19, 2020

Intuit

the trees 
outside my window
don't change
but they move 
in the winds that 
move 
but don't change
the sky
immovable
infinitely changeable
and infinite 
even my 
finite window
intuit
the winds of change
move the
unmovable
sky and that
changeable forest
of the trees
and me

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